


Drip Dry

by adamprrishcycle



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Kavinsky is his own warning, M/M, NSFW, Oral Sex, as if i just named a fic drip dry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 16:56:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9281111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adamprrishcycle/pseuds/adamprrishcycle
Summary: “You didn’t give me a towel,” he says. He’s mad and Kavinsky couldn’t be happier about it.“Shit,” he says and he gets to his feet, really drawing it out, “guess I didn’t.”Ronan showers at Kavinsky's house and Kavinsky nearly catches feelings.





	

Lynch comes out of the bathroom completely naked holding his dick and balls in both hands. Both hands, honestly. Water runs down his body in thick rivulets and his skin is flushed from the hot water of the shower.

“You didn’t give me a towel,” he says. He’s mad and Kavinsky couldn’t be happier about it.

“Shit,” he says and he gets to his feet, really drawing it out, “guess I didn’t.”

Lynch rolls his eyes and makes towards his clothes that are on the floor but Kavinsky is quick to get in his way. He isn’t passing up an opportunity like this and when he gets close enough, Lynch freezes up. It always goes like this. He has to act like he doesn’t want it at first, he has to pretend to show a little restraint otherwise- otherwise what, exactly? Fuck knows.

Kavinsky looks him in the eye as he takes his wrists and removes his hands from where he’s covering himself. If looks could fucking kill. Then he pushes his hands behind his back, pinning them there for a moment then letting go to see if he’ll do as he’s told. He doesn’t though, of course and Kavinsky tries again.

He doesn’t tell him to stay because he knows that if he says that, Lynch will do the exact opposite. It’s better that he does it by himself. And he does. Kavinsky lets his wrists go and they remain behind his back this time.

“That wasn’t hard, was it?” Kavinsky scolds himself internally for wasting his breath on that comment. He has to savor every second that he has Lynch here like this. He’s well aware that it’s becoming pathetic but as he lets his eyes wander down Lynch’s body and he sees the way his cock is responding to the attention, he doesn’t really care.

“God, you’re so easy,” he says. That one was definitely worth it and Lynch opens his mouth to spit a comeback, but Kavinsky strokes him and he shudders and his words tumble back down his throat.

Kavinsky takes it in for a moment: Lynch standing here naked with his hands behind his back, his chin tilted upwards in an act of blissed out defiance and water still sitting on his skin. He’s tall and slim, but where Kavinsky himself is all ribs and skin stretched over bone, he’s covered in lean muscle that fills him out perfectly. If Kavinsky didn’t want to fuck him, he’d probably hate him. He considers that maybe he does hate him and that’s why he wants to fuck him. But he settles on the fact that Lynch doesn’t just make his dick hard, he also manages to make his chest hurt and it’s all really fucking confusing.

He pushes his thoughts and feelings aside and he’s about to drop to his knees when Lynch stops him.

“Wait,” he says and Kavinsky sighs heavily thinking, _this again._

“Do you want me to blow you or not? Because you’re looking a lot like you want it right now,” he says and Lynch looks pissed off as he shakes his head.

“No,” he says and he’s hesitant, “let me-” he releases his hands from behind his back and pushes Kavinsky’s away, “I wanna do you.”

Kavinsky doesn’t really have time to think, let alone react before Lynch is pushing him backwards towards the bed. As he lands on his back across the sheets he grasps hold of one thought: this is new. He’s usually the one who gives and gives and gives in an attempt to make Lynch stay a little bit longer. Lynch has never given him anything back, but now here he is, tugging Kavinsky’s pants down as though he’s done it before. Maybe he has, but always for somebody else.

Jealousy stabs up under Kavinsky’s ribs, aiming for the part of his chest that hurts like a bitch and he grabs at Lynch’s back, wanting to leave scratches so that whoever sees them will know he was there.

As soon as Lynch has Kavinsky’s boxers pushed down around his knees, he’s already half-hard and Lynch smirks at him as if to say, “and you called me easy.” What’s worse is Kavinsky knows he isn’t gonna last long.

Lynch leans in and kisses the inside of his thigh and it’s so gentle. It’s too fucking gentle. Then he noses carefully upwards, nudging at his skin as though he’s asking permission to be there.

“Does Dick like it when you’re gentle with him?” Kavinsky hisses. _Get on with it._ It’s enough and Lynch takes hold of him with one hand and braces the other against his hip, digging his fingers in. He works his fingers up and down, massaging and tugging with just enough pressure that has Kavinsky exhaling shakily.

And his lips are like nothing else. His tongue is clumsy and as Kavinsky sinks back into the mattress he wonders whether this is actually Lynch’s first time doing this. He feels his teeth a few times but he nudges his forehead with his knuckles and he soon repositions himself. Best of all, his mouth is warm and wet and like everything else about him; fucking perfect.

“You’re good at this,” Kavinsky says. He’s not _that_ good though really, Kavinsky’s definitely experienced better, so he’s not sure why he says it, but the quick squeeze Lynch gives him makes it worth it.

“How long have you wanted to do this?” He asks, not really expecting a verbal response, “I bet you’ve thought about it and you’ve wondered what it’d be like, haven’t you?”

Lynch digs his nails into Kavinsky’s thigh in protest. It’s satisfying to know he can’t snap something back because his mouth is otherwise occupied.

“Do you know why you’re enjoying this so much?” He pushes a bit more. “‘Cause you respect me and you want to impress me.”

Lynch’s eyes are covered by a veil of eyelashes as he looks up but Kavinsky can still see the rage. He can tell just by his expression that he’s _spitting_ abuse in his mind. Kavinsky knows he doesn’t respect him in the slightest.

But now he’s really worked up and he goes for it and barely two minutes later, Kavinsky is hissing, “don’t you dare fucking stop,” as he comes. Lynch climbs up his body and Kavinsky doesn’t hesitate as he licks into his mouth.

He thinks, good boy as Lynch pulls away for a moment to wipe his mouth, his spit thick and white. It should be fucking disgusting, but it’s not.

Lynch kisses him again hard, punishing him for what he said. It’s hardly a punishment though and Kavinsky is alive with this _feeling._ He wraps his arms around Lynch’s bare shoulders and doesn’t notice at first the way the kisses grow slower and softer. Then suddenly he’s lifting his hand to place it gently against Lynch’s hot cheek and Lynch brings him back to himself by taking hold of it as though he’s about to push it away. But he doesn’t. Turning his head to the side, he kisses the palm of Kavinsky’s hand and Kavinsky feels something inside his chest snap in two.

He takes his hand back and Lynch looks down at him as though he’s asking him a question, then he kisses him again and his mouth tastes more like his mouth than like Kavinsky and it’s maddening in a way that has Kavinsky massaging his fingers into his shaved scalp.

He tries to think of him as Ronan for a second, instead of Lynch. He could call him Ronan, he could get used to that. He almost says it out loud, but then _Lynch_ kisses his throat and says, “tell anyone about this and I’ll kill you.”

What a piece of shit. Kavinsky makes a mental note to tell everyone. But maybe not about this part.

He thinks Lynch is gonna get up then, but he shifts his weight to one side and lies beside him instead. His dick is pressed flush against his stomach and he runs one hand over himself idly and presses a thumb and forefinger to his temple with the other. He looks spent. He looks beautiful.

He also somehow reads fucking minds.

“Don’t,” he says and Kavinsky curls his fingers into a fist and doesn’t touch him.

“What do you want me to do then?” Kavinsky asks and he sits up to pull his pants back on. “Just sit here?”

“Shut up,” Lynch says weakly, his hand still moving on himself.

“You just gonna get yourself off in front of me?”

“I said shut up.”

So Kavinsky watches as he begins to jerk off. His breathing gets longer, then faster and he grabs Kavinsky’s knee as he makes a mess all over his stomach.

“Exhibitionist,” Kavinsky hisses but he’s short of breath himself.

“Fuck off,” Lynch responds.

Kavinsky rolls onto his side so he can look at his face as he speaks. “You’re gonna need another shower after that.” His eyes flick to Lynch’s stomach. It’s fast losing it’s appeal.

“Do I get a towel this time?”

“You look better when you drip dry.”

Lynch sits up, pushing him aside and, using the bed sheet, wipes himself clean.

“Motherfucker,” Kavinsky says but Lynch is grinning so it’s not that bad and for a moment everything’s okay.

Then he gets up and starts getting dressed.

“So, what, you’re going now?” Kavinsky asks and Lynch turns to look at him.

“I suck you off once and suddenly I’m your boyfriend?” He shakes his head and continues to get dressed and Kavinsky is repulsed by his words. Boyfriend. Fucking hell.

“God, the boys are gonna love hearing about that,” he says, he’s after a reaction and he gets one.

“Don’t fuck with me,” he says, pointing a finger in Kavinsky’s direction, “I told you not to tell them, so you won’t fucking tell them.”

“You ashamed?” Kavinsky sneers.

“Of you?” Lynch asks, “yeah, I am.”

“There’s no need to be fucking rude,” Kavinsky says. He’s stung, but he hides it well.

“I’m not being rude, I’m being honest,” Lynch says, he pauses as though searching for the right thing to say as he pulls his jacket on. “Just- don’t, K.”

“Only if you promise to do it again,” Kavinsky says around a smirk and he can tell Lynch is uncomfortable now. “Come on, princess,” he prompts, partially to help him out so he’ll have something to snap at.

“Stop calling me that,” he snaps predictably and Kavinsky gets to his feet. Lynch takes a step back.

“Anything you want-”

“Don’t fucking say it,” Lynch explodes, “why are you such an asshole? Why do you always have to make it so hard to-” he cuts himself off short.

“So hard to what?”

“Nothing,” Lynch spits, “you’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, you already said that,” Kavinsky replies as Lynch heads for the door. “You know what your problem is, Lynch.” That stops him. “You think you’re better than me. You think you’re something fucking special and you’re not. You’re just another rich boy who follows Gansey around like you’re his little bitch. You could actually do something, but you don’t-”

Lynch snorts and covers his mouth with his hand. “Sorry, what? You, Joseph Kavinsky, giving me a lecture on how I should live my life? You’re fucking delusional, man. As if you’re some prime example on how I should be. I’d rather die.”

“There it is again,” Kavinsky says snapping his fingers in his direction, he can feel his anger like something physical clogging up his veins, “you think you’re better than me.”

“Yeah, I do,” Lynch says, “do you know what Gansey said to me the other day? The thing that makes us different to you?” He pauses for effect. “We matter.”

Kavinsky laughs, “fuck you both. If I’m such trash, why are you here? Why did you just blow me if I’m such filth?”

Lynch doesn’t seem to have an answer for that.

“You’re a sick, lying bastard,” Kavinsky snarls and Lynch rolls his eyes and he’s at the door now and he doesn’t say anything as he leaves.

Kavinsky tells himself that he’s glad that he’s gone. He tells himself that he’s sick of his shitty attitude. He tells himself that if he’d stayed he might have hit him. Or kissed him. Jesus fucking Christ. _Get out of my sight,_ he thinks, _and get out of my fucking head._

But then he’s gone, and Kavinsky keeps replaying his words over and over.

_We matter._

There’s no escaping it though, he wants him back even when he makes him feel like shit and it’s predictable and gutting and completely fucking pathetic.

**Author's Note:**

> There's no reason why Ronan would ever be showering at Kavinsky's house but there we go. Just go with it. I have no idea how to use these notes but I go by the same name on tumblr so follow me for secondhand embarrassment. adios!


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